


Middle Earth Hustle

by Minka



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Drama, Humor, Legolas is a BAMF, M/M, Realistic Violence, Serious Parody, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minka/pseuds/Minka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For centuries the MEPA has watched over the people of Middle Earth, none so diligently as sharpshooting Detective Greenleaf.  Unparalleled in skill, his dedication to his cause, however, is put to the test upon meeting his new partner; a dense, mangy shagpile of cheap cologne and e-cigarettes.  </p><p>With the prospect of his shining career being over in a puff of Athelas flavoured smoke, the young elven investigator sets out to once and for all prove that he works better alone.  But with the discovery of a deadly new drug on the streets and a bloodthirsty gang closing in, even Legolas has to question if he’s bitten off more than he can chew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Newbie - In which Detective Greenleaf meets his undoing.

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Someone, somewhere in the midst of tumblr madness, posted a prompt up ages ago about Legolas and Gimli being unlikely cop partners in a modern AU world were all the Middle Earth races still existed. Unfortunately my mind automatically crossed out Gimli and substituted him with any number of other people which is exactly what happened here. It was then that my old OTP came up to bite me in the ass. So while everything in this is of my own creation, I did draw inspiration from that original prompt. 
> 
> Thus, Random Tumblr User, wherever you may be, this one’s for you! Sorry about the lack of Gimli. 
> 
> **IMPORTANT:** As you should already be aware, this is a modern AU. It is with that in mind that I’ve described all the settings. Middle Earth still stands as per map, but instead of a world try to look at it as a sprawling city. For instance (and a lot of this will make sense as you read) Mordor is still wasteland, the Shire is just that; the farming outskirts of the city. Rivendell has been reinvented into the city’s large hospital. The rest of the places are like districts (think London or Tokyo). Mirkwood would almost be Notting Hill/Shibuya, Minas Tirith is the business district (Shinjuku) while Osgiliath on the other side of the river is kinda the seedy slums (Kabukicho). Moria is the industrial sector etc. Put your trust in me; it makes sense as you read. ;) 
> 
> While I don’t think I mentioned it in text, the MEPA is in Lorien. 
> 
> Also, I am fully aware that Legolas’ name translates into ‘Green Leaf’ however he’s a cop and he needs a last name. So for the sake of this crazy idea, his name is officially Detective Legolas Greenleaf. It was that or ‘Gumshoe’ so I think we can all agree that Greenleaf sounds much better. =)

*****

**Chapter One**  
The Newbie  
 _In which Detective Greenleaf meets his undoing._

*****

“So, what’s the plan?” 

Legolas blinked, his head tilting to the side as he took in the figure that had spoken to him in an upbeat, questioning tone. Oh no. Said figure waved slightly, as if to get his attention, and Legolas shook his head slowly. Just no. There was no way this side of Mordor that he was going to suffer through this… this disgrace! 

Turning on his heels, the blonde stalked straight back through the door he’d just come through, much to the seated occupant of the room’s horror. The plastic shutters cluttered against the badly frosted glass as the door slammed shut behind him; all things that the seated elf tried his best to ignore. 

A moment of silence passed. Well, not full silence. The blinds that hid the interior of the small office still rattled in the wake of Legolas’ desolation and every few seconds or so the seated man leafed through another page of recycled office paper. However, like all things, even this tranquil standoff had cause to come to an end and when it did, it was just as loud and explosive as the seated elf had expected. 

“Surely you jest!” Legolas all but shrieked. His hands, balled into fists, came crashing down on the large oak desk. A pile of paperwork to the left shook, as if in fear, before finally succumbing to gravity and sliding downwards. Like a rockslide, the paper collected speed and bowled over objects, a wooden plaque being one of them. The half full coffee cup was saved from the same devastating assault by a quick, pale hand. 

“Surely you jest, _sir_ ,” the seated elf corrected. To better prove his point, the index finger of the hand not clenching his mostly cold coffee, pointed out gracefully to not-so-gracefully poke Legolas’ clenched fists off his desk. He then straightened up his disrupted name plaque. 

_‘Celeborn Galadhrim, Superintendent. Middle Earth Protection Agency.’_

Placing the mug down on the desk closer to his left, well out of the way of Legolas’ explosive reactions, Celeborn noted that the younger elf did naught other than roll his eyes and nibble on his bottom lip in regards to Celeborn’s check on his manners. Young ones these days, so disrespectful. 

“Have we not already been over this, Legolas?” Celeborn asked in that tone you could only master after centuries of talking people around in circles. It was the sort of question that encouraged most people to nod and agree out of fear that they would be proven intellectually void when pitched against a superior mind.

Legolas, of course, was not most people and Celeborn cursed that fact as Legolas’ head tilted to the side, his eyes locking with Celeborn’s own. Much like how Celeborn had used ‘that tone’ on the younger elf, said younger elf used ‘that look’ on Celeborn. It was the one that intelligent people gave to other intelligent people; it said ‘don’t speak to me like I’m a fucking moron, you idiot!’ and for better or worse, Legolas had that look down pat. 

Sometimes Celeborn swore that life would be easier if Legolas was as blonde in the brain as he was of hair. 

“Legolas,” Celeborn started slowly; diplomatically. He looked up from his paperwork and placed his hands down on the desk, palms upwards. Open and inviting; friendly and soothing body language used to pacify scared children and wild animals though right now Celeborn wasn’t so sure which one Legolas really was. “In light of Tauriel,” Celeborn worked to choose his words carefully, “you need a new partner.” 

Legolas shook his head at that. “Tauriel will be fine. She just needs a little rest.”

Celeborn blinked. Then blinked again. Apparently they were going with scared child today and while part of Celeborn was glad that his desk wouldn’t be subjected to any more outbursts of Legolas’ rage, another part of him lamented. Scared child took so much more time to deal with than quick, furious, wild anger. 

“Legolas,” Celeborn reasoned, “she was shot…”

“Merely a flesh wound!” the blonde argued, throwing his words in the middle of Celeborn’s calm explanation. 

“…they had to amputate her left arm!” 

“A minor setback,” Legolas’ face screwed up in irritation even as his mouth ran wild, speaking what he already knew to be utter horse shit. “…It could grow back…”

Celeborn had to look away before his eyes expressed his want to burst out into laughter. He busied himself with the folder he’d previously been looking at and tried to remind himself to be gentle. Legolas had been very fond of Tauriel. Of all the detectives’ previous partners, she was the one that had not only matched Legolas in skill and motivation, but also just lasted the longest. For better or worse, Legolas didn’t have the best track record in keeping people around. 

“Legolas,” Celeborn tisked, his head shaking from side to side as he leafed through a manila folder. “You’re being completely irrational.”

“Unreasonable,” Legolas corrected. “I’m being unreasonable. And rightly so. Even you know a one armed Tauriel would be better than that… that… that thing sitting in her chair.”

“That ‘thing’,” Celeborn corrected, “is a man. And one that comes highly recommended. His feats as a Bondsman of the North are unmatched.” 

“Bounty hunter,” Legolas scoffed the more derogatory term for freelance law enforcers. “Scourge of our existence.” Not that Celeborn was about to make a point out of it but Legolas really did have a point there. Bondsmen, or Rangers as they preferred to be called, really did have a way of making the MEPA’s job a lot more difficult at times. Still though, Celeborn could see the merit in having one of them on board even if it was simply to learn their tricks of the trade so the MEPA could better avoid dealings with them in the future. 

“Besides,” Celeborn motioned to the file he was reading with his hand, as if Legolas could also see the words, “he is the foster son of Rivendell’s Chief of Medicine.” 

“Oh, right,” Legolas exclaimed, his arms sprawling through the air in a sign of exasperation. “His father’s rich and powerful so let’s just hand him a job even though he’s barely out of his diapers! I thought this was meant to be a fair, non-discriminatory workplace.” 

“Now you’re just being rude, detective,” Celeborn rebutted, his brows furrowing together as a scowl crossed his ageless face. “Perhaps it’s time to consider your own lineage, Thranduilion.”

At that Legolas rolled his eyes and huffed, his arms finally stilling as they came to cross over his chest. “He doesn’t count.”

“He’s the mayor!” Celeborn pointed out with no lack of disbelief at Legolas’ nonchalant diminishing of his own position in Middle Earth. 

Legolas’ father, better known as Thranduil and often referred to as ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Majesty’ and even ‘Your Supreme Majestic Highness’ was the be all to end all around these parts. Everyone loved him. In fact, not two years past when the MEPA had taken down a black market ring, Legolas had been most distraught to find pin-up posters of his father on the walls of some of the younger gang members. Orc gang members. Needless to say a sizeable part of his paycheque since had been going straight to Gandalf, the department’s shrink where Legolas was invited to ‘talk about his feelings’. For a hefty price, of course. 

But Thranduil. Tall, beautiful, regal and with just enough cutting sass to hide his lack of intelligence (though that was purely in Celeborn’s opinion) Mayor Thranduil was as good as being a rock star. The people either adored him or loved to hate him; either way, both sentiments kept his ratings high and for reasons that Celeborn couldn’t quite fathom, Thranduil was voted in mayor term after term after term. It made no sense. The only justifiable reasoning Celeborn could see was related to Thranduil’s eyebrows and that was a low point of group astuteness if Celeborn ever saw one. 

“And a drunkard,” Legolas spat, “and an arrogant diva,” he continued, his eyes opening wider as they rolled heavenward, his arms once again moving to have his hands flaring out in front of him, as if better to prove his point. The way his head wobbled in the process had Legolas reaching a slender hand up to hook the braids of his platinum hair with his pinky finger in order to remove them from his eyes. He tossed his long hair behind his shoulders before once again huffing, his arms crossing over his chest and his right hip jutting out. 

For his part, Celeborn wisely closed his mouth before he could speak. As his chest rose he drew in a deep breath and as he exhaled the negative energy, he was once again reminded of the overwhelming amount of similarities that Legolas shared with his celebrity status father. He was also reminded that bringing up said similarities was not wise for his mental health. After all he still had an outstanding appointment with Gandalf that he was required to take after the last time he’d suffered, less than quietly, through one of Legolas’ epic ‘I am not my father’ rants. 

“Besides,” Legolas went on, not at all seeming to notice that Celeborn hadn’t contributed to the conversation. “I didn’t need a paternal handout to get this job. If it was up to him then I’d be dressed in nothing but Val-Armani suits and doing feature spreads with Elf-Times.” The mayor’s son pouted in a way that cameras would have loved as he made his argument and for a moment, Celeborn actually felt a pang of sympathy for the younger elf. It couldn’t have been easy for Legolas growing up alone with just Thranduil for inspiration and guidance and as uncharacteristically caring as it was for Celeborn, he did marvel at how the young detective had managed to find such a different life-path than his illustrious father. 

“I’m the best you have, and you know it!” And then, right there, Legolas went and ruined it by proving that humility was something that clearly didn’t run in the family. 

Then again, the sad truth of the matter was that Legolas spoke in earnest. He _was_ the best they had, and that was no small compliment. The MEPA only took the crème de crème of each race but everyone knew that Glorfindel’s tragic accident involving an inundated beaver not two years past had bumped Legolas up to top spot. He had an uncanny eye for detail, never letting clues pass him by and, some swore, he had a sixth sense for when the scum of Middle Earth were on the move. He could sniff a weapons deal out from miles away and his natural ability to detect danger always kept him two steps ahead. Then there was his wildly celebrated marksmanship; he could shoot the eye out of an orc scout through the hole of a Cheeto. With his eyes closed. 

In fact, the only downside to this particular detective was his unveiled intolerance for races other than elves. That and the fact that his partners had a tendency to get shot. And maimed. Sometimes killed. Sometimes not always in that order either. 

Celeborn got it, he really did. At least, he understood as much as he needed to. Being Legolas’ partner couldn’t be easy and in a way he felt sorry for every unsuspecting cop Celeborn had signed off on. With Legolas it was all work and no play. He hardly slept and Celeborn knew for a fact that the younger elf had less fun then he himself.

Strength; hope; valour and deeds that would be forever remembered. Protect the innocent and save the weak. That was what Legolas was all about and when he spoke those words and tossed his hair and smiled, his eyes sparkling like blue diamonds, people – partners included – generally turned themselves into human shields simply to protect the ‘glimmering prince’ as he was rather irritatingly, aptly nicknamed. 

As much as he claimed to be nothing like his callous father, Legolas was the type that wanted for nothing. Celeborn was sure that he’d never paid for a single cup of coffee in all his years on the force and it surely had nothing to do with his record of closing every case he worked. When he wasn’t verbally raging or dragging perps into the bull pit by their ears, Legolas was actually quite charming. He had a way with words and knew how to work a room. Pair that with the harrowing good looks he’d inherited from his father and pretty much everyone in Middle Earth was at his mercy. 

In fact, Celeborn was fairly sure that he was the only one who’d met the elf who hadn’t disgraced himself by falling head over heels and sprouting words of love and throwing flowers at his feet. 

Of course there was the one time at the department Christmas party a century ago when Celeborn had consumed far too much wine and he may have… 

Shaking his head free of his troubling thoughts, Celeborn looked back up at the younger elf and set his jaw into place. He would not be moved on this subject. He’d signed off on the paperwork; Legolas would just have to find a way to make this new partnership work. 

As if reading his very mind, Legolas started again. “What about Haldir? He’s a worthy choice and after that incident with his partner’s very poor choice in companions then he’d be in need of a replacement as well, correct?” Celeborn still felt sorry for Haldir. Not every day you found out your partner was in fact an orc in disguise sent to infiltrate the MEPA. Especially not after that same Christmas party when Haldir and said partner had been found making out in the stationary cupboard. 

“Please, sir,” Legolas continued and Celeborn was sure that the younger elf only ever used his manners when he was desperate and sure he’s other wiles couldn’t win. “Sir, please. You know it’s a good match. We’d be unstoppable together and there’d be no funky business in the stationary cupboard because he’s old. But we’d be great-”

“Detective!” Celeborn interrupted against his better judgement. It wasn’t often that the son of Thranduil resorted to outright pleading and Celeborn was snide enough to wish that there’d been at least one other person to witness this defeat. 

“My decision is final. You will partner with this,” he paused to flick back through the manila folder he’d been perusing, landing on the first page and skimming to the man’s name. “Estel Aragorn Dúnadan Thorongil Strider Elessar Telcontar Longshanks…” Again Celeborn paused, his regal eyebrows moving closer together as his face scrunched up in distaste. Was that all one name? Or did this man have more personalities than Thranduil on a three week bender? “…Man,” he finally said, “and that is all there is to it. Now, good day.” And with that Celeborn did the thing that he loved the most. Lifting his right arm, his ducked his head slightly and made a dismissive flapping motion towards the door with his hand. It was a clear indication to get the fuck out and leave him alone. 

He didn’t stop waving his hand until after the door slammed closed again and even then he stopped simply to catch his coffee mug before it rattled off the cabinet. 

*****

Looking at the dirty man that sat with his boots up on Tauriel’s desk and an electronic cigarette in hand, Legolas knew that life was over. 

“Everything all good?” the human asked, his eyes darting from Legolas to the door he’d tried to slam off its hinges. 

Looking the man over, Legolas felt his heart sink. The human looked like he was hardly a day past his twentieth birthday. Though that apparently didn’t stop the man’s hair from being long and unruly or his face from being covered in a dark scruff. He couldn’t even get that right. Somehow it managed to fall halfway between a five o’clock shadow and a becoming a beard. 

“No,” Legolas sighed. Moving across the small office, he screwed his nose up before swatting the man’s feet off his partner’s desk with disdain. The human looked shocked, the chair rocking dangerously close to pitching him off and Legolas found himself matched with a small pout as the man looked up at him. 

Not giving the man the pleasure of a response, Legolas schooled his features as he then plucked the electronic cigarette out of the stubble covered mouth. He held the offending thing between his thumb and forefinger, looking at it like it was a servant of Mordor as he tried to work out what to do with it. 

In all honesty he had no clue how to make the aberrant thing stop billowing out e-smoke. Stubbing it out anywhere sure wasn’t going to help and there was no way that Legolas was touching the end that had been in the human’s mouth. Those creatures carried disease. 

Shit out of ideas, Legolas merely tossed the device over his shoulder. The e-cigarette sailed through the air and went straight out the one slightly opened window in the whole office; a testimony to his impeccable aim. 

“Hey!” The human exclaimed. With all the grace of a cave troll he staggered out of his seat with a flurry of his out-dated leather trench coat and raced towards the window as if he could undo what had just been done. Secretly Legolas hoped that the man would be that forlorn about the loss of his precious vile contraption that he might just jump out after it. 

“What did you do that for?” 

Legolas moved to his desk, ignorant of the large, pleading eyes turned upon him, and took his seat. Pulling open his filing draw, he pulled out the last file he and Tauriel had been working on and plonked it down decisively on his desk. He still had to write his final report and if there was one thing that Legolas really hated, it was paperwork. Especially when said report involved touchy subject matter. Not only was it the first one in decades that he hadn’t closed within a week, but he felt like he owed it to his partner – ex-partner apparently – to tie in all the loose ends. Retribution for the ill done to her. 

Flicking it open, Legolas propped his chin up with his hand and started skimming through his notes. It was during this scrutiny that he felt, or maybe smelt, the human siding up to his desk. Barely suppressing a shiver at the man’s proximity, Legolas tried to bite down the ire he felt heating his blood. 

Honestly, Legolas wasn’t racist. He had a number of non-elven acquaintances, some of which were even human. They made excellent informants, dirty things that they were, and even better spies. Always willing to go crawling around in places that no self-respecting elf would and even more eager to sell out a friend for the right price; humans could be quite useful and honestly, they weren’t quite as bad as dwarves though most tended to be just as dirty. Not that Legolas was all for social segregation, but he had to admit that it was handy that the humans kept to their side of the city and the dwarves kept to their dank recesses. 

The human’s face floated in between Legolas and his file, clearly trying to get his attention. “Ok,” the man said and Legolas sat further back in his chair just to get away from his hovering face.

“Clearly we got off on the wrong foot,” the man continued and Legolas had to bite his tongue not to comment that they’d gotten off on the wrong feet. Both of them. Plural. On Tauriel’s desk. Had he spoken he also would have added that perhaps that plural of ‘foot’ should take a walk straight out the front door and forget the way back. 

Legolas had to fight hard not to chuckle at his own train of thought. 

“My name’s Aragorn, but a lot of people just call me Strider.” Legolas looked at the hand that was unceremoniously thrust into his personal space and blinked. The man wanted to shake? Maybe Legolas should have held off on throwing the cigarette out the window until the human was ready to play fetch as well. 

Blinking again, Legolas eyed the hand and then shifted further back into his chair. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a small smile stretching across the human’s face. It angered him. 

“Now would be the opportune moment for you to introduce yourself as well…” the human prompted. Legolas merely blinked again, his eyebrows furrowing into a dark line across his forehead. “Or… not…” the human kept talking. “I mean, you’re Legolas. The Legolas. Everyone knows you. Your work is unmatched.” Legolas watched as the man screwed up his face and shook his head slightly, his hand moving to rub at the back of his neck. “I’m ranting, I’m sorry. It just, well, it really is an honour!” 

Deadpanning, Legolas nodded curtly once, a drawn out ‘ah’ passing his lips as he quickly assessed the man’s clear lack of mental capabilities. “Petty flattery will get you nowhere,” Legolas said while standing. He needed to get out of here and fast and he demonstrated as much by brushing coldly past the human and heading for the door. 

“That wasn’t my intent!” the human said, following Legolas across the room. Legolas tried to ignore the man the best he could as he pulled his forest green woollen peacoat down off the rack. Buttoning up the double breasted buttons, he popped the large collar up before pulling his long blonde hair free. 

“I mean,” the human was still talking and as Legolas reached for his scarf, he was pretty sure that he was getting an eye twitch each time the man opened his mouth. “I meant what I said, but I wasn’t trying to needlessly flatter. You must get that all the time. Not that your work doesn’t deserve praise, because it does, but flattery because of how you look. Oh god, not that there’s anything wrong with the way you look. I mean, you’re beautiful; unless you don’t like being called beautiful in which case you’re just pleasant. But in a pleasing way. I mean…” 

Blinking once, Legolas fixed his eyes on the door and let out a deep breath as he pulled his gloves out of his coat pocket. It wasn’t that cold out and of course being an elf he hardly felt the weather anyway which was a blessing unto itself. Never getting hot or cold opened up a whole wide range of interesting fashion choices. It was with that in mind that Legolas slowly pulled on his brown suede gloves. If he remained calm and kept himself occupied with his own thoughts then he would survive this verbal disruption peacefully and appropriately. 

“…I mean…”

And then Legolas snapped. Who the hell was he kidding about being peaceful and appropriate? Whirling around in flurry of green and brown, Legolas regarded the human for all of a second before, without any preamble at all, his lifted right hand snapped into the human’s nose. 

The human looked shocked for a moment, his hands almost making it to his bleeding nose before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell, like a stiff board, backwards to the floor. 

For a brief moment Legolas thought that he might have lost his mind completely but his inner monologue corrected him. Oh no, this was perfect. When asked later, as he no doubt would be, he’d not be telling a word of a lie by saying that he had a momentary slip of sanity, no memory of hitting the man and no idea of how much force he’d put behind it. 

“Do you hear that?” He asked no one in particular. If temporary insanity was his plea then he may as well make it solid and start talking to himself. “Silence!” he exclaimed happily, his arms waving in the air as if heralding the second coming of the Noldor. 

And with that he turned his back on the human, opened the office door and stalked out towards the blissful freedom of the elevator. 

 

From within his office, Celeborn sighed and shook his head at the sound of a body hitting the floor and the clear lack of Estel Aragorn Dúnadan Thorongil Strider Elessar Telcontar Longshanks’ voice afterwards. 

Apparently scared child had turned into wild, destructive animal after all. 

*****


	2. All days feel like Monday - In which Detective Greenleaf swallows his pride

**Chapter Two**

All days feel like Monday

**In which Detective Greenleaf swallows his pride.**

*****

 

Detective Greenleaf shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. He wasn’t lurking. No self-respecting elf ever did. He was, however, avoiding and the fact that he was standing in the shadows of the alleyway next to the MEPA’s building was completely irrelevant.

He didn’t want to go in there.

It was a feeling that he was most unaccustomed to and one that he was loath to admit to himself. There was this sense of dread that sat heavily on his heart when he thought about taking those fateful steps in through the main door. In a way he wished that he could pretend that he was unaware of where that dread came from but then he’d never really been one to lie to himself 

It was the human. This ‘Aragorn’ thing that had been so disgustingly thrust into his life.

The fact that Celeborn had made a house call last night to chew him out over cordial conduct within the work environment also didn’t help. Apparently it was frowned upon to smack even the most annoying of human’s in the nose within the workplace. Who would have thought? Legolas certainly hadn’t. In his honest opinion – which he explained at length to his often closed minded superior – he was acting in accordance of the good will and sanity of all.

Celeborn, of course, did not agree and had left Legolas not only feeling like a scolded child but with the clear instruction that he was to apologise.

That did not sit well with Legolas. He didn’t apologise. People apologised to him; it was the rightful structure of life and his tingly elf senses fretted that the world would stop spinning if he threw off that balance.  

Huffing and pushing his hands deeper into his pockets as if he could actually feel the chill morning air, Legolas let his head thud back against the brick wall dejectedly.

He didn’t even know _how_ to apologize. Considering the countless times that people had found themselves in his very situation around him, Legolas could safely say that he’d listened to all of naught of their apologies. It normally involved a lot of grovelling, words that were rushed and slurred together like a drunken dwarf and sometimes over accentuated bowing. Legolas did none of those things. Hell, he could hardly even incline his head to his father.

The worst thing about the entire situation was that he knew he couldn’t avoid it. At some stage he was going to have to walk through those doors with his head held as high as he could and find some half assed words to put Celeborn’s infuriating need of ‘making amends’ to rest.

Knowing that there was no point in delaying the unavoidable and also noting that the longer he stretched this out, the more peeved Celeborn would be, Legolas let out a long breath before pushing himself off the wall. Rounding the corner with all the graceful speed that only an elf could muster, he blinked his eyes clear as he fortified his mind for the upcoming horror he’d have to endure.

What he hadn’t been expecting was the epitome of said horror to also be rushing towards the door. Nor had Legolas expected them to crash, head on or for said horror to be carrying scolding coffee in his hands. Scolding coffee that seemed to leap straight out of its cup to come splashing across Legolas’ torso, right between the folds of his open jacket.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Legolas froze mid step and was thankful that his father couldn’t see him now. There would have been endless lectures on faces that eligible elven bachelors just shouldn’t pull in public and Legolas was sure that if he could see himself right now, he wouldn’t have even been able to argue against Thranduil’s point.

“I’m so sorry!” Aragorn all but cried out as if he could get the stains out with the shrillness of his voice.

Legolas finally blinked. It wasn’t that the coffee burnt – well, it did, but he didn’t feel it so really it was all circumstantial – but it was the shock of the situation that had him, as he was loath to realise, standing there like a stunned fish.

Promptly closing his mouth and lifting his head, Legolas fixed his eyes on the scruffy human with his hands still out in a way that, now that he thought about it, were in the perfect position for throttling. Praying to the Valar that he’d be able to incapacitate the lowly human with the heat of his gaze, Legolas settled for merely death staring the man down.

“Legolas, I’m so sorry,” the man kept going, “I didn’t see you there. Or hear you and I just… wait. Are you alright? Didn’t that burn?” It was like Legolas was standing outside of his own body, watching in morbid horror as the human actually lent closer and started patting at the coffee stain with his hands.

Something inside of Legolas broke.

“Ut ut ut,” Legolas stuttered out, the horror of having the human further sully his person turned his brain to mush. Hands flailing like an over-eager hobbit, he all but battered the man away from him before taking a shaky step backwards. Right eye narrowing as if he was about to fire, Legolas kept one arm out as if to fend off the human’s incisive ranting.  

“I got you coffee,” Aragorn finally settled. “Well, I had you coffee.” Legolas watched as the human looked down at the two spoiled take away cups from StagBucks and momentarily questioned the man’s sanity. His expression was so forlorn that Legolas was almost sure that Aragorn believed the coffee had landed on him instead.

Not at all listening to the man and seeing the moment to be opportune, Legolas decided that it was now or never.

“I’m sorry.” He said his voice monotone as he sprouted out the appropriate words. The human looked stunned; Legolas took that as a good sign and pressed on. “Well, I’m not but I was told that I had to apologise or I’d be suspended and I like my job.” Aragorn blinked and Legolas nodded slightly, proud of himself for his ability to do this whole ‘being humble’ thing. “But I also like my pride, so if you speak of this to anyone, I’ll kill you.”

Well, that wasn’t so hard after all.

Thoroughly pleased with himself and believing his words to be incredibly clear, Legolas nodded once more to the human just to confirm that all was as good with Aragorn as it was in Legolas’ own mind and then, coffee stain and all, proceeded to strut into the office building.

“Huh?” Aragorn said behind him and Legolas tried not to sigh. Humans could be so dense.

 

*****

 

“Celeborn wants to see what happened to you?” Legolas was sure there was meant to be a dramatic questioning pause somewhere in Haldir’s words but with the Lórien elf it was sometimes hard to be sure.

“Excuse me?”

“You ah, umm, have a big, ah,” Haldir fumbled over his words, a thing that was most unbecoming of someone of his age.

“Coffee, Haldir,” Legolas clarified. “It’s coffee.”

“Explains the smell.”

“No, no. That’s the human,” Legolas said as he heard the door open and close behind him. Seriously, Aragorn needed to lay off his cigarettes, even if they were electronic. They left a scent on him that preceded his entrance into a room. Then again he kind of just reeked in general so really the undertones of murdered plant life weren’t so bad.

“I heard you got a human,” Haldir said with the smuggest smile Legolas had ever witnessed. If he wasn’t already on a good behaviour warning then he would have taken actions to wipe that smirk clear off the other elf’s face. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Coffee, Haldir,” Legolas repeated with a sigh, his left index finger ardently pointing at the coffee stain across his shirt. He tried to picture himself breathing in positive, golden light and expelling dark, negative energy, just like Gandalf had counselled him to do. It did nothing and honestly, Legolas was pretty sure that he was wasting his time and money seeing that old hack.

“Well, ah, yeah,” Haldir summed up intelligently. “But anyway, Celeborn wants to see the two of you in his office.” There was no way that Legolas could miss the slight taunting wiggle Haldir’s eyebrows gave off as he walked away.

Arrogant schmuck!

Slipping out of his jacket and tossing it over the back of his chair, Legolas looked down at his light blue shirt with dismay. He was a mess.

There wasn’t much he could do about it now though. While Legolas was always prepared as any being should be, his preparation consisted of a stash of extra rounds for his company issued firearm, a spare battery for his mobile phone and a packet of breath mints. Not shirts. He never needed shirts; he simply wasn’t clumsy enough to spill anything on himself for the idea to warrant premeditated thought.

“Come along, human,” Legolas called over his shoulder as he made his way towards Celeborn’s door. Behind him Aragorn muttered something about names and learning them but Legolas really wasn’t paying him any attention.

Opening Celeborn’s door appropriately – without knocking – Legolas breezed in and made his morning greetings. “I apologised to the human,” he said with his left arm raised as if expecting a high-five before draping himself over the only guest chair in the room. He watched as Celeborn pointedly closed the folder he’d been reading before looking up with his doe-eyed attempt of a glare. Legolas gathered that the older elf was tired and said as much. “Tough morning? Well, let me tell you about mine…”

“You asked to see us, sir?” Aragorn cut into Legolas’ epic retelling of how he’d come to be in such an appalling state.

“Ah yes, Aragorn, Legolas,” Celeborn finally broke his silence and Legolas had the clarity of mind to narrow his eyes at the order of their names.

“Now, I hope you two have moved past the turmoils of yesterday.”

“Water under a bridge,” Legolas said diplomatically right at the same time as Aragorn added his own two cents.

“He threatened to kill me…”

“Pish posh,” Legolas laughed the human’s words off with a flap of his hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“…So yeah, I guess we’re all good,” the man concluded while shuffling his feet. Honestly, Legolas didn’t get it. What was it with human’s being so fidgety all the time and what was so damn interesting about Aragorn’s tattered, worn boots that had the human staring at them?

“See,” Legolas exclaimed happily. Truth be told, he was still pretty pissed about the coffee but there was no point in airing his dirty laundry – no pun intended – in front of Celeborn. All he needed was his boss to think that everything was hunky dory and then Legolas would be perfectly capable of dealing with his case load without the help of his new ‘partner’.

“I see.” Celeborn fixed his doe eyes on Legolas and Legolas returned the look with a bright smile despite the fact that he felt like he was being unjustly judged.

“Was that all, sir?” Aragorn asked, pulling Legolas from his thoughts. What was with all this ‘sir’ stuff anyway? Glancing over at the human Legolas noted that the man looked about ready to run. He liked that. Fear was a good look on the young man’s face.

“No, actually.” The superintendent cleared his throat and Legolas noted the way his eyes shifted between the two of them edgily. “You two,” Celeborn addressed them with a critical eye, “have your first case.”

“I’ve had plenty,” Legolas pointed out helpfully.

“Together!” Legolas flinched at the bitten tone of the other elf as well as just how quickly he spat the word out.

The older elf lifted up the folder he’d just been reading and Legolas was off his chair quicker than his father could down a glass of fine red. Beating Aragorn to the desk, he snatched up the file and flipped it open, ever eager for a fresh new case to put his mind to. Within seconds he was pacing across the small office, his nose buried into the yellow cardboard and the pages within.

“One Frodo Baggins,” he heard Celeborn say. Must have been for the sake of the human; maybe it couldn’t read. Either way Legolas tuned them out, his keen eyes skimming across the neatly written pages and committing the facts to memory.

Said Frodo Baggins, a hobbit from the Shire district, had been dragged into custody last night for attempted automobile thief of a MEPA car, license plate 379-ONE.

“That’s my car!” Legolas exclaimed loudly. Finally looking up from the pages in his hand, he fixed his horrified gaze on Celeborn’s, his mouth once again falling into that expression that his father deemed ‘ungodly’.

“Yes, Legolas,” Celeborn drawled out, “if you’d been listening you would have heard that.”

With a flutter of his hand Legolas brushed off the other’s words and went back to reading.

So this Frodo Baggins, from the Shire, had been apprehended trying to steal a MEPA car – Legolas’ car! – late last night. The arresting officer, having deemed the hobbit to be under the influence, had sent him down to Rivendell for a toxicology analysis. Results were due within the hour. All the hobbit had to say for himself was, and quote, “BAM Mary Poppins, BAM.”

The hobbit had no priors and no family other than an uncle who was, at this point in time, unable to be located.

Closing the folder, Legolas tucked it under his arm and looked to Celeborn, then Aragorn. Then he promptly looked back to Celeborn because even that old elf was more pleasing to the eye.

“I want you two to get down to Rivendell and find out what Elrond has to say. Something had to drive this hobbit towards his actions and I want to know what.”

Legolas nodded curtly while Aragorn added in a “Yes sir.” Idly Legolas wondered why the human was so intent on sucking up to the superintendent.

Exiting the room first, Legolas dropped the folder down on his desk and picked up his jacket. Shrugging into it, he found the left arm hole ready and waiting for him, a fact that was wholly unlike the usual conduct of a heavy jacket. Glancing over his shoulder he was greeted with the sight of the human holding it out for him, a small smile on his face.

“So, to Rivendell then,” Aragorn said in a tone that Legolas didn’t fully understand. Was that a question or a statement? Humans; so ambiguous with their tone and inflection. Something in the man’s eyes looked rather hopeful as Legolas stepped an acceptable distance away and fastened the buttons up over his ruined shirt.

“I’m driving,” he said in response as he yanked open his desk drawer and pulled out his keys. If Aragorn had a problem with it, he didn’t say so. He simply picked up the folder and followed Legolas through the cubical desks of the office.

It wasn’t until hitting the down button for the elevator that it clicked. Rivendell. Elrond.

Oh Valar help him; they were off to see Aragorn’s foster father. It was with great effort that Legolas didn’t groan while impatiently hitting the button again. As the doors finally dinged their arrival and the two stepped in, Legolas couldn’t shake the feeling that he was willingly walking towards doom.

“I’m really sorry about your shirt…”

Eyes closing, Legolas once again thought about that golden light as he breathed in. It was going to be a long drive.

 

 


	3. Clever got me this far; Tricky got me in.  In which Detective Greenleaf falls out of his comfort zone.

*****

**Chapter Three**  
Clever got me this far; Tricky got me in

_In which Detective Greenleaf falls out of his comfort zone._

*****

Legolas squinted before need gave way to rationality and he lifted his hand to shield his eyes. What was it with these places and their flashing strobe lights? It was a horrible effect that he was sure only humans and half-baked dwarves could possible find endearing.

And, apparently, high as kite hobbits.

Their trip to Rivendell had been every bit as painful as Legolas had imagined. Not only had Aragorn stunk up the car, but as they grew closer to the place that was apparently his second home, the human had felt the need to point out every uninteresting spot of scenery along the way. As if Legolas hadn’t been there before. That was what got the elf; he was centuries old and had been doing this job for longer than Aragorn had been alive. He’d been to the House of Healing before. A lot, actually, even if most times it was to check in on partners in varying stages of death.

Thankfully though, the trip hadn’t been in vain. The hobbit was still out of it. His eyes were glassy white, his temperature high and Legolas was once again reminded that being mortal and getting sick was a disgusting affair. The small creature’s left shoulder was swollen and blackened, the veins popping out and Legolas had been able to see the dark blood pumping through with each beat of his heart.

Elrond had summed it up nice and quick once the reunited family pleasantries were over and done with. It was one of the things that Legolas appreciated about the older elf. He was always straight to the point, unlike his airhead daughter. That girl liked to talk and talk slowly, her voice whimsical as if there was actually something romantic about packing festering wounds with leaf litter or chopping off perfectly good, slightly holey arms.

Frodo had taken something and it was having an adverse effect on his body. Moreover, it was Elrond’s belief that it was most likely self-injected through idiocy. A party drug used to get to new and terrifying highs.

Speaking of highs, it also had him flying with umbrellas if his endless rants of ‘BAM Mary Poppins, BAM!’ said anything about the hallucinations he was experiencing.

The only thing of use that they were able to get out of the little creature was the muttered words Weather and Top.

And so here they were eight hours and a change of clothes later following the only lead they had.

The club of Amon Súl was the place that the scum of society went to mingle and yet stay on the down low. Open topped, it was exposed to the weather which the punters seemed to love and yet that didn’t stop them from lighting the place up like the backlit scene out of a horror movie. Playing a mixture of Nazgûl Rock and Dwarf Metal it was the exact place that no elf ever wanted to go. Not only was it an assault on sensitive eyes, but the deathly wails and screeches of black robed performers had a way of making Legolas’ ears feel like they were going to bleed.

And it was best not to focus too greatly on the décor. Legolas wasn’t his father when it came to interior design and the need for everything to be glimmering and perfect was non-existent in the cop. In fact, most of Legolas’ small apartment was decked out in cheap do-it-yourself furniture from EyeKELYA but still, this club had a lot to answer for.

Dark stonework that looked like it hadn’t seen any structural updates since the Great Fire had Legolas on edge, his elven sense telling him that the whole place could fall down with another drum beat from the Singwraith band performing. The crumbling old statues didn’t help liven the place up either.

“You need to look like you fit in.” Legolas almost jumped clear out of his skin as Aragorn whispered the words straight into his ear. How this side of Mordor had the human gotten so close? Legolas could feel his breath on his skin, prickling his neck and for a horrifying moment he contemplated that the heat he felt on his shoulder from the human’s hand was the touch of mortal sickly death.

“And you fit in too well,” he hoped to hide his shock with the dry comment and shifted away slightly.

“What did you say?” Aragorn yelled over the music and Legolas merely rolled his eyes. It was just his rotten luck of late to be stuck in the loudest place on Middle Earth with someone of limited hearing.

Shaking his head, Legolas merely turned his attention back to the party goers and thrill seekers of the club. He hated places like this, even more so then the pretentiously obnoxious soirées that his father forced him to attend. There was no telling what was worse; a mixed-race bunch of sweaty, over sexed drunkards grinding to bad music or a collection of stuffy, ostentatious businessman pretending to be intelligent while failing to hide their excessive alcohol consumption.

As for fitting in, Legolas was pretty sure he was doing the best he could. No elf could ever fit in here and he’d pay any of his race who managed to do a better job than he was.

His usual choice of green and blue clothing hues had been darkened up for the occasion; he’d always known that keeping at least one outfit from his younger, rebellious motorbike racing days was a good idea. Black jeans tucked into an old pair of riders boots and he covered his simple midnight blue t-shirt with a black bomber jacket. His hair was tucked in at the nape of his neck – one of Aragorn's less than brilliant ideas – and his face was mostly obscured by the deep, dark hood of his shirt.

All in all, he was pretty sure that he could get up on stage and start making dying cat noises and no one would pay him any attention.

Aragorn… well, he was in his usual dark getup and worn leather coat, all of which seemed to be perfectly acceptable. In fact, if the way he nodded to the bouncer as they’d walked in gave any indication, Legolas would swear that the man was a regular.

All too suddenly, Aragorn was by his ear again, his hand once more on Legolas’ shoulder.

“You need to relax,” he breathed into his hood. Despite himself, Legolas couldn’t help but shudder. He did manage to stop himself from snarling that he’d clearly relax easier if Aragorn stopped invading his personal space. “No one’s going to do anything with you staring everyone down like an elven cop.”

“I _am_ an elven cop.” Legolas grit out between clenched teeth. He was proud to be a cop, and a bloody good one at that. One that was far above this game of dress up and hide and seek. Legolas wasn’t against stake outs, per say, but his version of recon involved him standing on top of a building and scanning the streets with his elf eyes, not slinking through the shadows and trying to blend in.

This whole spur of the moment undercover thing was a bitch. In fact just being undercover in general didn’t sit well with Legolas. But Celeborn had insisted; he wanted eyes and ears out there and Legolas was making a mental list to barrage him with explaining exactly why his eyes and ears needed paid rehabilitation after this fiasco.

“Let’s get you a drink, it might help.”

“I don’t drink.” Well, that was a blatant lie. Legolas quite frequently partook in the consumption of liquor – though not even half as much as his father – just not when out and surrounded by already annoying people. And certainly not on the job. He didn’t do well in crowds, never had and Gandalf had once said that it was due to emotional repression of childhood trauma. And at one hundred and eighty bucks a session Legolas was sure it was a good idea to take the thieving-quack-bastards advice.

Large groups had a way of a making Legolas nervous. Then again so did small, intimate groups where he was expected to be perfectly adjusted and socially acceptable. One on one situations were the worst; the absolute worst!

Legolas knew what people said about him. He was arrogant, he was an asshole, and he was egotistical. It was all water off a ducks back as far as he was concerned. He wasn’t on the force to make friends; he was there to make a difference and to stand up for those that needed aid.  
On the streets, in the office and in the interrogation room, Legolas was in his element. He didn’t care how he came across to people and if he was being an asshole, well, they probably deserved it. Like the filthy human. But it was these social situations that he couldn’t handle. Years and decades and centuries of his father lecturing him on what was expected of the mayors son, of what he could and couldn’t say, of how he should hold his wine glass and how he should bow low, but not too low because the Mirkwood family bowed to no one. It all had a way of messing with his mind.

Aragorn’s hand on his arm drew his attention again and with startling horror, Legolas realized that though they were surrounded by a large group of people, it was just him and Aragorn. One on one. Alone. His mind should have been assured by the lowly status of the mortal; there was no need to impress or even be civil with the man, but somehow that logic was lost on Legolas. All that mattered was that he was suddenly in what his mind considered a stressful social situation and before Aragorn even spoke, Legolas was sure he was about to have a panic attack.

“Well, tonight you drink.” The man advised. Legolas felt Aragorn's grip around his elbow tighten as the man led him to the bar. Truthfully though, the elf didn’t even notice; he was too busy frantically tapping the centre of his chest to warn off the building pain of a complete personal crisis.

Legs bumping into a bar stool, Legolas lowered himself down on what felt like an old barrel, more than glad that he hadn’t actually seen what he was putting his body against. He heard Aragorn yelling a drink order across the bar, his mind not really registering the words as he worked hard to keep his panic under control. Curse his father and his overbearing tendencies.

Legolas was sure that if he hadn’t grown up with that insane diva then he would have been fine. Probably would have turned into a well-rounded, emotionally adjusted individual with a lower tolerance of alcohol and a decreased desire to shoot things.

“Not good with people, huh?” Aragorn asked. As if it was any of his business. All of a sudden Legolas’ drink was delightfully interesting and the elf averted his eyes from the human’s to better study the colour of the liquid.

“Look, I get it,” the human continued and Legolas wondered if that was a purely mortal trait. To just keep yabbering on even when it was clear no one was listening. “I’m not so good around people either. I hate that forced social interaction and the small talk you need to make around people.”

“You don’t say,” Legolas muttered dryly. As he took a sip –well, substantially large gulp that left the glass less than half full – of his drink, he wondered if human’s understood sarcasm. Apparently not.

“Yeah. Especially around my father’s business associates. Their meetings give me the hibijibis.”

“Look, Aragider,” Legolas cut the man off. He didn’t even realise that he had the man’s name wrong.

“Aragorn,” the human corrected, “but you could call me Estel if you’d prefer.”

Legolas did a double take, not at all sure what the human was talking about. Any why the hell did he need so many names anyway? “Let’s just get to work and get out of here, alright?” It was the closest thing to weakness and desperation that Legolas was willing to show.

The man agreed with a nod and Legolas finished his drink with the feeling of the human watching him. Clearing his throat, Legolas turned his eyes to the crowd in a clear indication that Aragorn should do the same.

Time passed and Legolas saw more bad dancing then he’d ever wanted. There was also the case of the possible mating of a furry hobbit lass and a boarish dwarven builder going on over in the corner that left Legolas wishing he could rinse his eyes with bleach.

With that side of the room officially a ‘no look’ zone it wasn’t until Aragorn's hand slipped up around the back of Legolas’ neck, his fingers lost in the hood that Legolas even knew anything was going on. Well, going on that was more important than Legolas struggling to keep his cool and not upper cutting the presumptuous male for touching him.

Aragorn’s face came in far too close for comfort, his furry cheek scratching at Legolas’ hood loud enough that the elf could actually hear it echoing in the dome of fabric.

“Pretend we’re talking. I think I see something,” the man explained right as Legolas was about to deck him, Celeborn would surely understand. Legolas inwardly groaned. Couldn’t they pretend to talk without the human touching him? And on that note, just what the hell were Aragorn’s fingers doing? They were moving, kneading into Legolas’ hair and Valar help the man, but Legolas was about ready to snap. No one, especially not a filthy human, touched him like that.

“My eleven o’clock,” Aragorn whispered into his hood and again Legolas almost shuddered as the human’s breath tickled the elegant point of his ear.

“Act casual,” the human continued and Legolas found himself rolling his eyes. Well no shit, Sherlock! Thank god Aragorn stopped him from turning around and gaping at the suspect like a shell shocked retard.

Heaving out a small sigh, Legolas snubbed the man and instead turned his attention back to his drink. Angling the glass towards his body, Legolas shifted his fingers casually until the light hit the side in just the right spot. Keen elven eyes easily picked out the creature in question displayed on the smooth, reflective surface.

The creature fit the bill. Gangly and pale, it was a wretched looking thing that slinked its way between party-goers, cutting purses and lightening pockets as it went. Legolas’ eyes narrowed under his dark hood.

“Little thief,” he cursed. It was the creature’s destination that drew his attention though; never had Legolas seen a more ragtag group of crooks and hooligans in his life. Comprised mostly of humans, the group still housed a few dwarves and one very red faced hobbit. Legolas knew that colouring; love of cheap alcohol had turned the small being into a walking tomato.

With Aragorn's hand still doing Valar only knew what to his hair and neck, Legolas narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the glass in his hand, watching as the creature handed a bundle to the flushed hobbit. Something was given back in exchange – money, Legolas guessed – and with that the deal was done.

It took considerable effort to make himself lock eyes with his ever-so-close human partner but when he did, Legolas knew that the human was thinking the same thing.

The gangly creature was the key. He was the target.

Legolas put his glass down, his head turning in his hood as he relied on Aragorn to keep him informed. The human spoke slowly, his voice deep as he set the scene with short observations muttered against the side of Legolas’ head.

“He’s moving… left. To the pissing tree.”

“The what!?” Legolas eyebrows shot up in surprise, his back straightening at Aragorn's words.

“Pissing tree. Bathroom. Powder room. Whatever,” and the more Aragorn kept talking the more Legolas realised he didn’t want to know. Still, Legolas ran through the area in his mind. The bar was in the centre of the hill top club; the stage was behind where Aragorn stood and that meant that the washrooms were somewhere behind Legolas, between his six and nine o’clock.

“Alright,” Aragorn continued, “Here’s the plan.”

“You go to the ‘pissing tree’,” Legolas interjected. He was the one who made the plans around here! Not some upstart of a twenty-something year old human child! “I’ll try and confirm the hobbits package.”

The words were out of his mouth before he realised how they sounded and Legolas glowered at himself. Aragorn didn’t seem to notice or if he did he at least had the decency not to burst into laughter. That was more than Legolas would have been able to offer the human if their roles were reversed.

“Ok,” was all the man said before finally withdrawing his presence. Irritation quickly overshadowed Legolas’ relief when Aragorn offered him his hand to get down off the stool. “Keeping up appearances,” was what the human mouthed at him and Legolas met said appearances with some of his own. One mighty shove to the human’s chest had the man stumbling back like someone rejected while Legolas slipped off the stool perfectly fine on his own.

It wasn’t until the two of them had rounded the bar, Aragorn pouting like a kicked puppy, that things went pear shaped. The red faced hobbit was on the move, and fast, his companions calling out a series of curses too obscene for Legolas’ delicate ears. Glancing to Aragorn, Legolas saw the man start forward as if to make chase. Behind him, though, the skulking creature caught onto the commotion and turned fearful eyes towards the hobbit lumbering towards him with all the grace of a lamed bull.

Grabbing Aragorn by the scruff of his jacket, Legolas halted the man as their target started wailing out a noise that had people skittering out of the way. Heads turned, thugs looked up and the hobbit stopped, his hands on his hips and his breath laboured from the six meter jog.

For a moment the back half of the club stopped as everyone looked between the wailing thing, the hobbit chasing it and the edgy gang members in the corner.

And stuck there, right in the middle and looking completely out of place while watching the entire thing were two clearly undercover cops.

Legolas noticed their blunder only seconds before Aragorn but by then they were too far gone to try and pretend that they weren’t spying.

“Cop’ses!” the wailing creature shrieked, it’s almost translucent arm stretched out to point at the elf and human. Clearly it saw its way out of whatever mess it had made with the hobbit and pinpointed the one thing that could distract a pissed off buyer backed by bloodthirsty thugs. “Filthy, sneaking cop’ses!”

“Well…” Legolas started only to be cut off by Aragorn.

“…son of a bitch!” For a horrifying moment Legolas wondered if the human could read his mind.

The word ‘Cop’ had every sleazy looking schmuck in the place turning their eyes towards Legolas and his companion. Like a gang in a comical movie, the ragtag group of mortals that the creature had slinked away from stood up, their balled fists smacking menacingly into their palms. They looked more like they were going to break out into song and dance then pummel heads. ‘Cop’ also had the red faced hobbit legging it as fast as his robust legs could carry him and it was with dismay that Legolas quickly lost the short creatures head in the midst of the crowd.

The filthy mob continued to advance while the hobbit slipped away, violence in their eyes and impending destruction outlined in their sheer numbers.

And that was when Aragorn went and did the absolute dumbest thing anyone could ever do. Taking a step forward and holding his arm out, Legolas was all but pushed out of the way of the oncoming fight and behind the man. Granted, it had already occurred to the elf to use the disposable mortal as a human shield if the occasion called for it. There was a big difference between deciding that a sacrifice was needed and being coddled like a defenceless child though. Or protected like a damsel in distress.

Legolas saw red.

Seriously. Blinding red strobe light stole his sight right as the thugs began to run and with Aragorn already in Legolas bad books, the elf decided to do the smart thing.

Cut and run.

Blinking until the red glow of the artificial light cleared from his watering eyes, Legolas backed up away from the fray that Aragorn dove into with a shouted word that may or may not have been one of his many names.

Taking his seat back at the bar, Legolas watched with veiled amusement, his hood pulled down even lower. Aragorn was getting his ass handed to him. It wasn’t that he lacked all skill in hand to hand combat but what he did have was nothing more than an undignified though refined flailing of arms.

He really should help. He knew that. He could almost picture Celeborn’s face and hear his lecture in his head. ‘Legolas, I’m disappointed in you. You should know better. You don’t leave your partner in danger…’ and all such other nonsense. As far as Legolas could see – and that was a long way – this might just be the slap in the face that Celeborn needed to wake the hell up and realise that Legolas and a human just wasn’t going to work.

Aragorn was being piñata’ed between three jeering drunkards and Legolas was hard pressed to work out what they had to do with anything. Maybe they were just in it for a good old fashioned bar brawl.

“A little help here?” Aragorn snarled as one of the men cracked him in the cheek. The cop stumbled to the side, coming to face Legolas and Legolas almost kicked himself for thinking that the way the human spat blood to the ground as he spoke was sexy.

“Eww,” he told himself aloud. He has to stop that train of thought well and truly before it got started.

With a laborious sigh, Legolas looked around him with a sense of calm disinterest. When his eyes fell on a small bucket behind the bar, his face morphed into a grin. It was the one his father called his feral look right before starting that same lecture about what expressions were acceptable for someone of Legolas’ social stature and appearance to make.

For Legolas though, it generally marked the coming of a wicked idea.

Bracing his arms on the bar behind him, Legolas pulled himself off his seat and instead perched on the side of the counter. He grabbed the bucket of bottle caps and clamped it safely between his knees. Reaching in, he pulled out the lid of a Glorfindel’s Surprise Brew with a badger printed on the top – even Legolas thought that was a bit of a low blow – and a Golden Dragon Pale Ale. He slipped them between his thumbs and curled middle fingers.

Armed and ready, he watched the fight from under his hood, waiting until the opportune moment before letting both unlikely projectiles fly. Both hit their desired targets. One drunken human fell, his hands clutching his left eye and Aragorn yelped out loud as the other cap smacked him right in the back of the ear.

“Hey!” the human of many names screamed in protest.

Chuckling slightly as he reloaded, Legolas shouted out over the screeching music. “Opps, sorry. Aims off from the alcohol!” The shiver that Legolas witnessed run the length of Aragorn’s spine suggested that the human didn’t believe him. Untrusting prick!

More bottle caps flew through the air as Legolas honed in on his targets. Four bottle caps struck the man Aragorn was struggling with straight in the nose with rapid succession. It gave Legolas’ unwashed partner the chance he needed to clip the assailant under the jaw with his elbow, ending the scuffle. A Goblin’s Delight lid found a new home in the throat of a yelling dwarf causing Legolas to cackle manically while kicking his heels against the bar in amusement. That was a good one!

He kept firing until the bucket was empty and the odds were back in Aragorn’s favour. Provided the human could take on a drunken dwarf. Either way, it was Legolas’ humble opinion that he had done more than his fair share.

Fate, however, seemed to see things differently as the moment Legolas finished his self-congratulation – he really had been fabulous! – a hulking mass of stinking, drunken mortal man flesh came charging right at him and his high little perch.

Letting the bucket drop from between his knees, Legolas stretched backwards over the bar like a cabaret dancer and snatched up the first two objects he found. Hands closing around the same thing, he sat up quickly and slipped his index fingers through the bottle openers. The elf spun the bar blades around his index fingers with ease and speed that startled even himself.

Going with the flow, Legolas cracked the edge of the right bar blade down on the human’s cheek with enough force to split the skin. The left blade spun in to take the man first out at the temple and then, on the backwards spin, clip him under the ear, right on the pressure point in his neck. One more spin had the right blade sitting in Legolas’ palm and he carelessly drove the blunt end into the already stunned human’s throat.

In that moment when the human stood there, slightly paralysed from the nerves in his neck and with his mouth open as his windpipe struggled to function, Legolas understood why his father was so against that expression that people pulled while stunned. It really wasn’t flattering.

With a small nudge from Legolas’ foot, the human toppled to the ground, marking the end of the fight. It wasn’t until the body hit the floor and a loud, collective gasp filled the room that Legolas even noticed that his hood had fallen down and his hair was back in its usual position; lose around his shoulders with his clearly pointed ears sticking out the top.

Poised and awkward up on the bar with the bottle openers hanging limply from his fingers and all eyes on him, Legolas raised his left eyebrow while narrowing his right eye dangerously. Nervously he started to nibble on the right side of his lip. To the left he heard an uneasy cough that sounded distinctly Aragorn-like.

“Oh don’t pretend you’ve never seen an elf before,” Legolas finally snapped. They were looking at him like he was the offensive one, or the one that stank that badly that even the clear night air felt acidic. It was completely lost on him that most of these backwater gutter-crawlers probably hadn’t actually ever seen an elf before; especially not a blonde one with Sindar blood.

Aragorn’s shout thankfully saved the room from any more pieces of Legolas’ mind. “Legolas, left!”

Something in Legolas just instantly understood what the man meant. He hadn’t seen anything himself and he didn’t bother to look; it was as if he and Aragorn had a mental connection, the sort of thing that happened to people when they’d known each other for years.

Gagging slightly, Legolas vowed not to dwell on that thought for long.

“Got it,” Legolas all but sung out. Fluid like water, he slid down from the bar and, hooking the discarded bucket with his right toe, he kicked it out across the room, catching the snivelling little creature in the back of the knees. Their target had been trying to slink away through the crowd while everyone was distracted.

The elf stalked across the room all the while enjoying the way the crowd parted before him. Maybe it was out of awe or maybe it was fear; either way Legolas was happy to have room to breathe and for none of the foul smelling scumbags to be too close.

“Get up!” Legolas commanded though he didn’t let the creature stand on his own, settling to instead haul it to its feet by brute force. He used his shoe to hook the creature by the heel, aiding in spinning it around so he could handcuff the thing’s arms behind its scrawny back.

“Nasty elf’ses. Gollum. Gollum. Tricksey cop’ses.”

Blinking rapidly, Legolas eyed the creature with disdain. What the hell was it on about?

“Whatever,” Legolas muttered as a foul smell assaulted his senses. He looked over to see Aragorn once again beside him, his hand clamped over his bleeding nose. The human’s right eye was starting to blacken and his hair, normally scruffy and un-brushed, looked like its owner had stuck his finger in power socket. His jacket was askew, one sleeve ripped straight through the seam and Legolas could see bloody cuts on the man’s knuckles.

“You look terrible,” Legolas said with a slight narrow of the eyes. That was exactly the reason Legolas didn’t get into fist fights.

The human had the decency to let out a small huff of humour before once again spitting blood to the ground and flicking the vile substance from his nose.

“And you,” Legolas turned his attention back to the creature, “are coming with us to the station. You’re under arrest for possession with the intent to supply.

“Oh, and while we’re at it,” Legolas snarled. Snatching up one of the bottle caps from the fight with his left hand, he flicked it to the side with barely a glance. It flew fast and true, seeming to curve around the masses of people before finally clipping the power switch to the bands equipment. The whole place came to a stop with a surge of electricity and all eyes turned towards the blonde elf. “Your music blows!”

With the club now deadly silent and every single eye on him, Legolas offered the crowd an expression that was the adult version of poking ones tongue out before glaring a path towards the door.

“Aim’s off, huh?” his human companion asked while rubbing his no doubt stinging cheek.

Legolas merely shrugged and grinned, his grip tightening on the struggling creature as he tugged it towards the door. “Guess I must have sobered up.”

Maybe it was Legolas’ imagination but he could have sworn that he heard the man behind him laugh and mutter something about prissy elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> Legolas on a motorbike… *brain explode* 
> 
> *****  
>  **On the next episode of Middle Earth Hustle:**
> 
>  
> 
> _“Are you simply doing this because you have a headache?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“No. Well, yes,” Legolas continued with a slight look of indignity. Again he added “Sir,” just to keep the pleasantries up. Shaking his head, he dropped down in the guest chair and lent his elbows on Celeborn’s desk, completely oblivious to the death glare said action earned him._
> 
>  
> 
> _“I know it sounds crazy, but I just need you to trust me on this one.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _It was Celeborn’s turn to look mortified. His head dropped forward, his silver hair hiding his face as his fingers pressed in on his temples. “Why do I feel like this is going to be painful?”_


End file.
